Dysfunctional empires were made to fall.
I am Caesar. Broken and conflicted. I am a man who gives false goodness to those who crave it. I provide solace to the ones who beg to be saved, giving them the goodbyes they want. But, my quiet little world is about to be shattered by the whispers from heaven and hell.
I am Mateo. Unlovable and unworthy. I am the boy everyone runs from. I keep love close to me in little jars of perfection, reminding me of a thousand goodbyes I never had to say, because I left them before they could leave me.
I am Svetlana. Dirty and Used. Birthed into brutality while still trying to comprehend my version of normal. I am an injured lamb, eaten by filthy wolves day after day. Just as salvation seems like it's within reach, a goodbye from this awful world is all that I wish for.
**Graphic content warning including detailed depiction of brutal, bloody acts. Physical and emotional abuse is also apparent throughout this book with graphic sex scenes, both consensual and non-sensual. Reader discretion is highly advised. Not suitable for readers under the age of eighteen or those who are easily offended by the above mentioned acts.**

Why? Why does he call me that? Why does he make me feel like I want to keep living for tomorrow? I hate it! But I have no choice as I stare into his black eyes. They draw me in and suck the wind from my lungs, once begging for death, now craving life. The tearing I remembered from before with Pavel is instantly replaced with lust, throbbing between my legs as I feel the urge to fall to my knees and kiss his bloody boots to show him how much I praise him. He holds my heart in his hands. He knows this, but something tells me that his heart is in the balance, too.

Girls like me hold no power. I took life. I took one of his dolls because they held something I never will. Peace. Order. Death. I broke. The little, quiet girl who let herself be raped day after day let herself break into a million pieces as the hard dick pleasured her while her lover loved him more. I thought for sure I would be reprimanded for my actions, but a softness I haven’t seen before is present in his eyes. And maybe something else. Worry? Is that worry? Is his face red? I find myself wanting to comfort him, but he doesn’t like to be touched. My warm, trembling hands make him feel uncomfortable. The push and pull between life and death, love and loss, is making me mad.